


Aspirations & Expectations

by orphan_account



Category: Magical Diary
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Ficlet Collection, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, May/December Relationship, Power Dynamics, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6855193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We would be in this exceptionally awkward position less often, Miss Highstreet, if you were not both Freshman Treasurer and the recipient of the most detentions this school has ever seen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aspirations & Expectations

“Ah, Miss Highstreet. I imagine you are here to plead Miss Middleton’s exam grade as well?”

“Just wondering how she was supposed to know practical application of intelligence was apparently off-limits in the magical community,” she said, then paused, pretending to thoughtfully tap her lip. “Actually, was today’s behavior toward her supposed to be a demonstration of that?” He leveled a glare at her.

“Are you here to make a specific point, or merely to antagonize the establishment?”

“Well, given that we haven’t been given anything approaching curricula, I take it wildseed students are supposed to absorb magical philosophy by, what, osmosis?”  She slammed her palm on the table, the paper before him turning to ashes that flared, then gathered in the stationary’s shape. She huffed, looking away from her hand and the result of red magic so clearly unrefined and lacking intentionality— _wildseed_ magic. Not academic. Not fit for proper witches.

"Detention, Miss Highstreet," he said, brushing the ashes off the table. "While there you may commiserate with Miss Middleton on the ridiculous, discriminatory nature of such policies. If you choose to write an essay and present it in front of the student council far be it from me to repress the virtuous,  _volatile_ nature of student democracy."

"Oh. Okay," she said, pushing away from the table—righteous indignation fading to embarrassment. "Sorry about your, um, paper."

"No matter. I'm sure the irony of incinerating my essay rubric will become abundantly clear to you as you regrade all of the level one blue magic essays." He tapped the stack of papers next to him brightly.

* * *

“We would be in this exceptionally awkward position less often, Miss Highstreet, if you were not both Freshman Treasurer _and_ the recipient of the most detentions this school has ever seen.”

“I have five merits right now, Professor,” she said, not looking up from her book. “and, also, I think Donald has more detentions."

“Doing exemplary on your exams does not exempt you from the consequences of totally disregarding authority!”

“But it does, by subsection eight of the student handbook, reading ‘the merit system at Iris Academy is one that does not forclude the ability of a student to change. As such, demerits—and, in fact, marks of merit—are subject to subtraction or addition by subsequent marks.’ End quote.” He sighed, sending her a heatless glare.

“So you _do_ know the rules.”

“Of course I do. One must know them to properly break them,” she said, giving him a cheeky smile over her textbook. “And, after all, I need to know them if I'm going to be class treasurer every year until graduation.”

“No aspirations toward presidency?” He asked, with a slight hmph of satisfaction.

“Well, I’m not sure how the magical society feels about,” she leaned toward him, whispering, “ _bigamy_ , but I think perhaps I should reprise my role next year, at least, if you’d like to avoid a Utah School of Magic situation.” Grabiner cleared his throat, looking away. 

* * *

“It will not happen again, Grabiner,” she said, voice like steel. “I will deal with a manus before an abusive husband, you got me?”

“It was not-“

“It was. And if you ever touch me in anger again I will- I will-“ she choked, because what _could_ she do? Here, he held all the power. His magic was far better trained than hers, if not stronger, and he was an adult in the full sense of the world, not just by marriage technicality. “I trusted you,” she said, voice quieter, shakier than she would have liked. “That trust was all we had, and you’ve ruined it with your temper.” He frowned, but before he could respond she turned, walking away.

* * *

“I’ve been an ass,” he said, approaching. She didn’t look up.

“Yes, that’s true.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, hands braced on either side of the desk and leaning in toward her. She set her pen down, folding her hands before her.

“I’m not sure that’s good enough.”

“I know."

* * *

“Is Iris Academy named after the Greek goddess or the flower? I’ve always wondered, and since Headmistress Potsdam both dresses in rainbow colors and is named for a flower there are no clues there.” He was sprawled at the foot of the campus’ oldest trees, her head against his chest as she looked up at the clouds through the leaves. He read, and, apparently, she mused.

“Many women are named after flowers,” he said, her mind filling in the gaps _like Petunia, like… Violet_ , "yet you are also named for a Greek goddess, are you not?” she nodded.

“Same as Minnie, I think. She’s never told me what ‘Minnie’ stands for, but I guess I just assumed it was ‘Minerva.’”

* * *

“Don’t you have anything I can call you in bed that has fewer than three syllables? Hieronymous is a mouthful,” she said, then grinned at the double entendre. “Professor? No, still too long. Though I think you’re a little _in_ to the whole May/December thing, and I _know_ I am.”

“Well it won’t do to keep calling me God. The school does have expectations of secularism.” She rolled her eyes at his small smirk, but was secretly pleased his mood was so light, even with her naked chest pressed against his, his blanket thrown over them both.

“You think quite highly of yourself, don’t you?” she murmured. “Oh, there’s nothing for it! It will have to be a pet name. What do you think of… bunny?” She tried not to giggle at his look of incredulity, eyebrows drawn down low. “Honey? Dearest?”

She leaned up, nipple trailing against the skin of his chest, wild curls tumbling over sheets and skin, breath damp and warm against his ear. “How about _sir_?”

* * *

“Honey, I’m home!” she called into the room, setting her luggage by the door. Hieronymous straightened in the desk chair, looking around the piles of books to see her. And her to see him. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, hair pulled back in a small bun. His cheeks and jawline had a bit of stubble, and his glasses—worn only when he was focusing so much he could not spare the energy for optical spells—were perched on his nose. She colored, shifting in place.

“That’s- hmm. A good look for you,” she said, aiming for neutrality rather than demanding he ravish her on the spot. He raked a hand through the loose strands that escaped the bun, grimacing.

“Yes, I suppose I should have warned you my looks tend toward caveman in the summer months. Less maintenance,” he said. “More time to focus on the stunning trivialities Petunia wishes me to embrace in my lesson plans.” As he spoke she’d crossed the room to him, sitting on the edge of his desk.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “It is a _very_ good look. I like it nearly as much as when you’re cross with me.” At that, he raised an eyebrow.

* * *

“Detention is getting a little boring, Professor,” she said, lifting her head off the book in front of her to look at him. Straight back, hand at his chin, he did not look up from his book.

“Stop landing yourself in detention then,” he said, eyes still trained on the page. She sighed, scooting her chair closer to his, an action that earned her an irritated look as the chair legs scraped the tile.

“I’m the only one in this week. Maybe we could come up with more… _creative_ punishment?” She tried to be sultry, but he only glanced at her as he turned the page.

“You’re not supposed to enjoy detention.”

“Given how much time I spend in detention I think it’s obvious I _do_ enjoy it, Professor. The long, titillating silences, the irritation furrowing your brow. Those are the things I live for. But _this_ time…” she leaned in, her breathy voice at his ear. “We could be reading next to each other _in bed. In our pajamas._ ” He chuckled, shaking his head. _"_ Listen, I know it doesn’t sound like the sexiest proposal, but imagine this: total silence and—best part—no intruders.”

“You've finished your book, then?”

“Yes! God, I need the next one and I know it’s on the third shelf by your desk. I’m _aching_ to read it—you’ve gotta take pity on me here. Cruelty has to be something you promised not to do in the wedding vows, right?”

“Those vows are expired,” he said, but the corner of his mouth lifted in insuppressible amusement. She stood in mock indignation, rising above him at the table as if it would grant her the superior logic. As she straightened a gust of force magic thumped soundly against her ass and she shrieked, hopping away from the magic to sit on the table. Hieronymous was closing his book, and she glared at him even as she fought back surprised laughter.

“Corporeal punishment?” she shook her head, grinning, “between this and the student/teacher relationships this place should really be shut down.” She was rewarded with an eyeroll and his arm over her shoulder, tugging her away from the treasurer’s room and toward his school apartment.

**Author's Note:**

> Not a series of ficlets I expected to write (and might still expand on), but I am a sucker for may/december and student/teacher so really after my otome gaming phase this was kind of inevitable.


End file.
